


i think i’ve made my choice.

by Pinkza



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Matter of Life and Death, Reminiscing, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, more tags to be added as it goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkza/pseuds/Pinkza
Summary: With a shaky, raw hand, Wilbur rubbed the raindrop out of his eye to clear his vision so he could stare ahead, cold breaths crying and begging for the sound of a train coming to be heard, so he could finally feel at peace. A moment of peace that could go uninterrupted, after a second of unimaginable pain and suffering.It was worth it, no?Of course it was.ORIt’s all too much for Wilbur. He contemplates what his life is worth and what the fuck in his future will be worthwhile. Is he even worth saving? Not in his mind, anyway.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	i think i’ve made my choice.

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo! this is kinda a vent fic but also not rlly? please read the tags so this doesn’t make u upset :[
> 
> •
> 
> IF I am told by the CC’s I will take this down! I don’t mean to make anyone uncomfy, I’m simply projecting my troubles onto my hyperfixation lol

Fuck, FUCK.

Wilbur gritted his teeth as he gripped onto his twisted hair with cold, uncaring fingers; his eyes trained on the lifeless train tracks below the old bridge he was currently situated on with a shaky stance of no care towards himself, the occasional car whizzing behind him every few minutes.

He stared longingly, his eyes basically begging for something to happen, something (anything) new that would make him move, whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. He needed a train to pass by soon before his brain rotted away inside his twisted skull, it only being full of stupid fucking ideas anyway. Maybe something else could happen other than that, but he wasn’t counting on it. He really wasn’t.

What the fuck was he doing out here anyway?

Just like always, he was making himself the main character of everything, whether it was playing someone to be saved or someone who was doing the saving; it never really mattered, anyway. He was so used to being the centre of attention and when he wasn’t, he made it clear that it was what he wanted to be, even if that meant taking someone’s place instead.

He was an asshole, no? Just a twisted prick with the occasional death wish, just some guy who was so terribly hard to read, since it was so, SO hard to fucking decipher if his personal album was just him milking the ‘sad’ song genre, or if it was a genuine cry for fucking help.

He didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care either.

Wilbur bitterly slid one hand into his pocket to turn off yet another phone call that he was purposefully ignoring, it not mattering to him at this point in time who it was.

A family relative? They can wait, they always do. He has excuses. Wilbur always has excuses. Surely they know that much.

A friend? Well, some poor choices in friends they’ve made, hm? Imagine befriending someone who pretends to be happy or really any emotion just to get people to like you before they realise you actually only feel one emotion and the rest is all a lie.

Imagine realising that someone you thought you could trust, had been putting on a show for you the entire time. You were forced into an audience to endure a mental decline that you didn’t even know was happening, yet even if you found out before, there’s no changing that.

Wilbur’s shoe squeaked off the wet, muddy concrete.

There’s no honest way to react when you find out someone you thought you could trust has actually been a puppet master the entire time. How much had they changed you? Did they mean to? How much of your life had they wasted? For how long?

Wilbur was so sick and tired of seeming okay. So tired. So, so sick.

Sure, there was a time and place for being sad, but this was way worse than anything he had ever felt before. It wasn’t something that could be solved by a cry or a hug filled with comfort and care, or at least he strongly felt it did. It felt like everything was crumbling around him, from the stars above to the concrete under his feet, the cooing owls in the trees on either side of the bridge and the cold wind blowing loud gusts of uncertainty into his ears against his will. Everything was falling apart and it was only an inevitable amount of time before he was taken with it. Just like his life was scripted to. This was meant to happen. Wasn’t it?

Honestly, he had no fucking idea.

Frustratedly, he left his hands rest on the mossy brick wall of the bridge, it being an unfortunately uncomfortable position for him, due to his height being annoyingly tall compared to the wall that was supposed to stop him from doing something regrettable. 

He didn’t want to do it, really.

Maybe he was just standing here to make himself scared?

Just to make himself go, ‘yeah, it’s not worth it, is it?’. Just something to make him realise how attention seeking something like this is. He wished this was true, but it didn’t seem like it was working. In fact, the sight below felt almost magnetic, like it was pulling him away from everything he thought he needed before it was too late to change his decision, the only noise shattering his eardrums being his own screams along with the splatter of his own body hitting the trains and tracks and- 

Ugh. He was such an attention seeker.

Now that he thought about it, how twisted would it be for him to go against his own song lyrics and go past the barriers that had been put in place to stop people from carrying out what was on his mind and had been for a damn while, huh? Sure, this wasn’t the exact location his song described , but it worked all the same, right?

That place was too crowded at this hour anyway. Doing it alone felt like the best choice here. Alone, secluded and disconnected from society. If his fear of heights wasn’t so bad he could’ve done it off a cliff even further away, honestly. But no, he was stuck here. Maybe the only thing stopping him was that same fear of heights barking in his mind between all of his rabid thoughts of good and bad. 

He could see the headlines now, honestly. I mean, there’d have to be someone who pointed at his corpse and blurt out ‘Oh, I watch that guy on YouTube!’ Imagine how embarrassing that’d be. The entire article would be filled with heartache as well as unimaginable secondhand embarrassment from whoever had to write it while being informed in real time who the fuck Wilbur even was.

Closing his eyes, it wasn’t that hard to imagine, surprisingly.

The image on the soggy newspaper, carelessly tossed in a bin showing this exact image of him peering over the bridge like he had been for hours on end, or at least it felt like it had been that long. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone had taken a picture or something. Y’know, fans n’ all that.

Wilbur certainly appreciated his fame, but sometimes it did feel like too much. It was either constantly thinking of everything he was saying everywhere despite his whole life not being broadcasted, but sometimes it was just... feeling like he didn’t deserve it. He gave them praise when they gave it to him, but it never felt like enough. He never felt like he could fully repay people for liking what he does and how much he apparently helps random strangers across the globe with so many personal problems; the list would be painfully long to skim through even if he tried.

Through all of his personal struggles, he nodded, smiled and thanked like a broken record; one that was beginning to melt away and eventually become unplayable due to it being overused. 

Hopefully his current facade was working though. The scene of scanning the ground like he had lost something dear, when in reality he was looking for the right place to land where the most or least damage could be made.

Still, Wilbur wasn’t sure.

Maybe it wasn’t the best to put anyone through this. Nobody wants to see the chalked outline of a lanky man splattered onto the traintracks below, especially if the name was one you recognised. The dread from that realisation may even be enough to kill someone. If he was a ghost, maybe he’d die again. He wondered how much it would hurt.

In this moment in time though, Wilbur didn’t want anyone to die, even himself.

He was just challenging his mind, really. Or maybe he just kept saying that. Just to stop himself from taking the extra step of clambering on top of the walls and-

Oh. He was dangling his legs over now. When did that happen?

Thoughts fogged his mind, everything behind him being a blur as he wasn’t even able to think of the consequences of doing this. Well, he was, but everything was starting to seem so far away now. His thoughts themselves were a maze with only a couple true exits.

For one, his jeans were fucking soaked, since he was sitting on top of a stone wall that had been rained on for the past hour and a half. A grimaced expression of disgust appeared on his face as soon as he had realised that problem, an eye now blinking closed thanks to a raindrop dripping down onto his forehead and into his eye socket, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse.

Everything was becoming so hard to bear with, really. Even the rain, which was something he genuinely couldn’t control. Well, maybe if he wasn’t out here in the first place, he’d be dry. And safe. And okay.

The whizzing cars behind his shivering back now seemed so far away while the tracks below looked to be closer than ever, it feeling so easy to just let go and drop down without any harm being done, even though that was so cruelly far from the truth. The drop alone would leave his legs shattered, even before the train got there, anyway. It didn’t really matter when he did it. It just had to be soon before his absence was noticed.

With a shaky, raw hand, Wilbur rubbed the raindrop out of his eye to clear his vision so he could stare ahead, cold breaths crying and begging for the sound of a train coming to be heard, so he could finally feel at peace. A moment of peace that could go uninterrupted, after a second of unimaginable pain and suffering.

It was worth it, no? 

Of course it was.

Wilbur closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact. He hadn’t moved yet, but by the way the sounds behind him were becoming more and more muffled, it wasn’t long now. Not long until everything finally left him alone and he could simmer away into the afterlife without a consequence to be seen from wherever he then resided.

Surprisingly, he even managed to block out the sound of his phone buzzing once again in his pocket, it not mattering to him anymore who was calling. Whether it was an emergency or not, his phone would break once it collided with the cold concrete below, right? Nobody can make calls to a broken phone. Nobody probably wants to make phone calls to a dead guy either, even if the intentions were supposedly good. 

His fingertips felt numb as he felt them release from the cold stone bricks below himself, cold air flying between each individual finger while the sound of the oncoming train rattling below on the old tracks got dangerously close before he-

“WILL!!”

Just like that, he had been whisked away from peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I will write the next part ... eventually! DONT worry, the ending is good, nothing bad happens :)
> 
> OH YEAH. Everyone else is in the next chapter so pls don’t be like 😐WHERE IS ____


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